


Something About Dennis

by Kanonite



Category: Original Work
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Blood, Creepy, Creepypasta, Dark, Fear, Gay Male Character, Gen, Horror, Loss of Parent(s), Men Crying, Supernatural Elements, Surreal, Teenagers, Television, Urban Fantasy, Violence, Weirdness, gay main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanonite/pseuds/Kanonite
Summary: In the year 2021, a teen boy turns sixteen, shortly after, weird things start happening to and around him, involving a supernatural force tied to human technology.An unconventional urban fantasy story, now in a single collection instead of seperate stories.





	1. Prologue: Pilot Episode

The coach screaming "GO!" sounded the beginning of the race, the short, golden-haired teen plowing ahead of his peers at an astonishing rate, circling around the track and reaching the starting line before anyone else, and he was not even winded.

The others took at least a minute and a half to catch up with him, the second one to do so being his best bud Jake, an Asian kid with big ambitions of becoming a vlogger.

"How...do you do that shit, Dennis?" He asked, panting.

"You know how I never take the bus, to or from school? Yeah."

"Oh, right."

Before their conversation could continue, the bell rung, signalling the end of PT. After a quick sign off, the kids made their way from the stadium to the locker room. Upon coming out of the showers, Dennis went immediately to check his phone, but it was not social media he was checking, it was a TV schedule.

When he opened the page, it seemed bugged, the schedule itself looking all jumbled. Hoping it was simply a poor load, he refreshed it and found it exactly the same, except for a 10 PM time slot, for something called "Civic Duty".

Sighing, he set the phone back down in his pants before going to get dressed. Must have been a bug, or a hacking. Though, who on Earth hacked a TV schedule?

After donning his loose-fitting, dark wardrobe, he headed back to the next subject's classroom with Jake, both of them simply going through the motions of school life up until that final bell rung.

As they stepped out, Jake had a question to ask.

"Say, Dennis."

"Yeah?"

"You know of Mike's party, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna go there? Im sure there are gonna be some hot broads that will like you there!"

"Ehhh, I think Il pass. Was thinking of having a big workout night and also binge watching something."

"Aww, come on, man. Live a little!"

"Jake, Ive been to every party you invited me to beforehand, haven't I?"

"Yep."

"So, why can't I sit this one out? Have a nice change of pace so it doesn't get boring?"

"Suit yourself, dude."

Dennis breathed an internal sigh of relief, still uncomfortable with coming out to both Jake or his classmates. 

As he saw him and the others piles on into the bus, he did his own, aforementioned routine of running home as fast as his stamina could allow, with a full backpack, reaching his home after about 20 minutes. Groaning, he rushed up to his room, passively noting that his foster parents were currently absent before setting his backpack down and rushing through his homework so his parent's would not chew him out for slacking off.

After that and a quick jerk off session he began his workout routine, consisting primarily of a treadmill and dumbbell lifting, lasting about an hour and a half. When it was all done, the sun had started to set.

After another shower, a shit and some fresh clothes, it was finally TV time. He fuckin' loved TV, it was like the 50/50 challenge but with less eye gouging results, and he liked the way the logo's and station ID's looked. He even had his dad teach him how to work VCR's.

Sighting exhaustedly, he plopped onto the couch, taking the remote from the coffee table and commencing his night long channel surf. A sitcom here, an infomercial there. As he surfed, he wondered if the schedule had cleared up. He pulled out his phone and checked it with a refresh. Still the same, with "Civic Duty" at 10 PM being the only thing visible. You would think they would have fixed it by now?

He set his phone down on the coffee table and splayed himself out on the couch, settling for a showing of Winter Soldier. Right as it ended, he started to get interference, static...on a digital television.

The image cut to some very old, grainy looking footage of half-closed eye logo, as some kind of old, 1970s-style synths started to play, the eye image fading to what looked like a birds eye view of a woman at a news desk, amidst a completely blank void. The camera then panned down to face the woman at the desk, who upon closer inspection seemed to have completely blank, all-white eyes.

She then began to speak, in a monotone.

"In the event of usurpers, the state is within it's full right to crush a rebellion. Loyal citizens, like yourself, are integral to preventing usurpation by foreign entities. Without further ado, let us begin..."

And just like that, Dennis found himself blacking out almost instantly...


	2. Civil Danger Alert

He awoke sitting on the couch to the sound of an unfamiliar attention tone, overriding the television  
program he had fallen asleep to, sounding more like a flatline than a duck call. His sleepy blue eyes  
opened, wondering what it could be, noticing an Emergency Alert in a style that he was quite  
unfamiliar with, along with a government agency logo he had never seen, depicting a human face  
with its eyes and mouth sewn shut, and a latin saying "Ignorantia est pax." forming a circle  
around it. 

And, as he got to his senses, he noted his surroundings were, in-fact, also different than  
what he remembered. His flatscreen had been replaced with a wood-paneled analogue set, his baggy  
goth attire with a more antique setup of bellbottoms, jean jacket and tanktop, along with an antique,  
rotary phone on the coffee table, where his smartphone was.

He tried to remember what he did before, and it hit him like a semi. The scrambled TV guide on his phone, that creepy signal hijacking with what looked like a blind newscaster lady, how  
she talked to viewers in a monotone about "the state's right to crush any usurpers", and then he blacked out.

Then, the EBS spoke, a human voice in place of the text-to-speech he grew up with.

"The Office of Paranormal Suppression has issued an attack warning for the Dodge County area.  
This is not a test. Anomalous, human-like beings have been reported in the Dodge County area. Do  
not attempt to engage these beings as they have been reported as hostile and immune to conventional  
armaments. Defining features include grey skin, blank white eyes, formal attire and see-through  
plastic bags on heads. Secure all doors, windows and other entrances, and remain there until our  
forces have rectified the situation. Do not attempt to evacuate the area or attempt to disclose this  
information to outside sources. Failure to cooperate will result in summary execution and erasure of  
identity. Upon cessation of crisis, report immediately to the nearest camp for amnesic administration.  
Failure to comply will result in summary execution and erasure of identity. This is not a test. This  
message will now repeat."

He could not believe what he just heard, this had to be a dream. He rolled up one of his sleeves and  
bit down on his wrist. Nothing changed.

This was real.

He rushed from room to room in his suburban house, passively noting its more antiquated furnishings  
as he hit every light switch, and made sure every window was locked. When all was said and done,  
one room remained, his bedroom.

In a rush, he bolted into it and palmed at where the light switch usually is, only to find himself  
touching exposed wiring. He immediately slammed the door and bolted to the safety of the living  
room, only to find a formally dressed, bag-headed figure sitting on a recliner, clutching, in its left  
hand the remains of a window that it apparently ripped off with its bare hands.

“We…all…fall…down.” The entity sung in a distorted, electronic voice, the bag not impeding it’s  
speech whatsoever.

And he could hear the bedroom door creak open, followed by footsteps behind him. He was no  
longer safe.

Thinking quickly, he broke into a sprint, launching himself out of the now exposed window and into  
the dark of night, quickly climbing up to his feet and looking around. Several other homes in Beaver  
Dam had their lights turned on, and he could see makeshift barricades on some, audible gunfire  
further off. He hoped, for his sake, that it was those "Paranormal Surpressors".

He started with a speed walk, taking in his surroundings. Vintage, at least vintage to him, cars lined  
the driveways, a few had their glass broken, one in particular having a couple with garbage bags tied  
around their heads and arms. As he moved on, he could hear the car with the couple, starting up.

His eyes widened in fear as he rushed toward the nearest fence before they could move out of the  
parking lot, vaulting over it and into a grassy yard, hearing squeals of car tires behind himself as he  
took shelter under the patio, sitting down, breathing heavily and closing his eyes. This had to be a  
nightmare. It had to.

Yet, when he opened his eyes, the newscaster lady from his memory stood hovered him, her  
monochrome body surrounded in what looked like film grain He froze in fear, wondering how she  
got here, but then, she spoke to him, monotonously.

“Your civic duty is to head to the television station not far from here. Find the man with the remote,  
destroy him or his device.”

“W-w-we don’t have a station in Beaver Dam.”

It pointed behind itself, into the distance toward a signal tower that he did not remember being there  
in his time period.

“Make your country proud.” The entity said, then dissipated in the blink of an eye.

It seemed the supressors were not his destination, yet could the woman be trusted? There was only  
one way to find out. He stood up and took several deep breaths, doing his best to regain composure,  
all the while moving out of the possible grabbing distance of the patio windows.

Composure regained, it was time to move. He gathered his prize-winning athlete training and broke  
into a run, running back around and leaping over the fence where he came from, finding himself  
back in the now-deserted suburb, a gut-wrenching female scream audible then cut short in the  
distance. He needed to hurry.

He stepped onto the road and started running in the direction of the monochrome station, ignoring  
any nearby noises as he focused on his "Civic Duty".

However, as he got closer to the station, he noticed that his surroundings started to steadily become  
desaturated, including himself, along with what appeared to film grain appearing in his eyesight.

As he approached closer and closer, the night-sky begun to fade and be replaced with what looked  
television static When he finally reached the station, the sky became full static and he could hear the  
distorted sound of an air raid siren as about a dozen bag creatures emerged, all running to get him.

Eyes widening once again, the boy broke into a sprint, rushing toward the glass push only to find a chained  
padlock with only an ominous eye logo and no actual keyhole barring the door, with the bags right  
behind him. Reacting quickly and on instinct, he ducked right as one of the pale arms was about to  
grab his throat, its arms breaking the glass while the rest of the mob slowly began trying to grab him.

Body now rushing with adrenaline, he quickly spotted and leaped through the broken doors,  
screaming in pain as his socked feet and exposed hands touched on glass shards, but the rush giving  
him strength to stand up and persevere through pain. He groaned and hissed as he made his way  
through the station, opening any door he could find in hopes of locating this man with the remote,  
allthewhile the bag mob was trying to squeeze its way through the broken doors.

He, meanwhile let out another scream as he trailed bloody footprints, finding no soul in the offices he  
checked, until he found a door with "Stage Entrance" written on it, opening it only to find a black  
void with a newscaster desk a short distance away. He entered whilst slamming the door behind  
himself, rushing towards the desk as the blood from his hands and feet leaked into the abyss below as  
if there was no solid ground.

Upon reaching the desk, he leaned over only to find a pale, emaciated, wide-eyed creature, two giant  
television remotes in place of its arms, analogue signal antenna's embedded in its back, cowering  
underneath it. It shielded its face with its unusual appendages as the blonde leaped over and gave a  
bloody, glassed kick to its stomach, it letting out a distorted, hissing scream, exposing its face to  
attempt a swing at its' assailant, only for him to dodge out of the way and then quickly lunge with his  
right palm, embedding glass shards in its face and eyes, breathing heavily as he had it pinned,  
jamming his other palm into it while repeateadly punching and slamming its head into the ground  
while screaming at the top of his lungs, until the creature ceased to move.

And then, he blacked out again.

When he awoke, he was back in his time, his wounds missing and unable to remember what  
transpired, but able to remember the initial broadcast. As he tried to come to his senses, he could hear  
an analogue synthesizer jingle, the blind newscaster woman sitting at the desk and beginning to  
speak as the camera began to pan upwards from her

"Now that the show is over, and we have jointly exercised our constitutional rights, we would like to  
leave you with one very important thought. In the future, your life will be fraught with bizarre  
happenings and the occult, it would be wise to study as much of it's assorted materials as possible,  
but also remain level-headed and sane amidst an increasingly insane world. It would be wise to  
remember, that events similar to this one may return in a week, a month or a year. Training and  
preparation is key to surviving a disaster."

And as the camera stopped at bird's eye view, she looked at it one last time and said "Thank You" as  
the television set spontaneously ceased its function.


	3. Ritual Shenanigans

“Cute cat suit!“ Cathy, the red-headed girl dressed as a witch exclaimed. “Come on, let's take a pic!“  
as she rushed toward Sarah, her blonde, succubus costumed friend on the decaying patio steps,  
Dennis following after and sitting down between them, putting his arms around and showing off the  
fang dentures that were part of his costume.

With the snap of the photo, it was time to meet the guys, the girl’s two footballer boyfriends, Jake, who he knew well, in a devil costume matching his love interest, the other an African in a Jason costume.

“Heeey, Dennis! Our paranormal guy! Love the fetish gear! Ready to do some witchin’?”  
“You bet! Looked it over an’ everythin’!” He replied, cheeky grin still on his mouth.

It seemed to be a newer one, involving using a TV to open to a portal to another dimension.

Speaking of television, he was reminded of what that newscaster lady told him, to prepare for what is  
to happen, as his life will be fraught with the bizarre and the occult from now on.

He hoped to God, if he existed in his popular culture form, that this was not what she meant.But at  
the moment, social acceptance overrode self-preservation.

“Atta’ boy! Jace, the TV!”

The Jason-costumed boy silently nodded and stepped into the abandoned house, using his phone’s  
flashlight to find the TV and portable generator he had already set up, the others following him in  
and looking around with their own lights.

“Dennis, you brought a phone?

“Nah. This suit doesn’t have any pockets. And we don’t need ‘em for the ritual either, judgin’ by  
what I saw.”

Though he did his best not to show it, Dennis still felt a niggling concern about what might happen.  
He hoped it would not, and yet, as he looked around in the dimly lit house, he could notice a shadow  
that did not belong to anyone there, watching.

Jace, meanwhile, was already turning on the generator and TV, while his devilish buddy was busy  
setting his phone on a tripod, hoping to record it all.

“This is so exciting!” Cathy squealed out.

“I know, right?” The blonde succubus answered, followed by a forced giggle. “Can’t wait to put it  
on Youtube!”

Mere seconds later, the shadow disappeared from view, and Dennis refocused on the task at hand,  
hoping the entity would remain passive.

“Aight, you guys ready?” He asked, twiddling his fingers a bit as he remembered the ritual’s  
workings.

“Just a sec, Denny. Gotta’ find an angle that can have all of us in it.” Jake explained, stepping back,  
going into his director mode. “Wel’ do this professional-like. Several takes, if need be.”

He then pointed to the TV. “Stand over there, will ya?”

“Sure!”

As the crew got situated, the devil-costumed boy turned his camera on, doing a countdown gesture  
with his free left hand. When the countdown ended, he launched into a vlogger persona, face  
shaping into a cartoonishly cheerful expression befitting of a vlogger, yet speaking in a whisper.  
“Alright, I got my friends here.” He turned the camera to overlook the others, all of them waving in  
unison. “We are about to do the ritual. This is so spooky, guys! Be sure to smash that like button!”

He then ended the recording, undoubtedly going to make it work in post. “Cut! Print it! Well done  
everyone."

For the next shot, he approached Dennis. “Okay, for the next clip, Imma’ need you to explain how  
were gonna do what were gonna do. M’kay? M’kay.”

A raising of the camera, another short countdown. The clip began, Jake being the first to speak.  
“Here is my boy, Dennis. He’s our supernatural expert guy, and knows what the ritual involves.  
With a more nervous grin, the blonde spoke up. “Well, what he got here is a portal summoning ritual,  
usin’ this ol’ TV set here to make said portal. Uhh… Involves lotsa’ chantin’ an’ stuff.”

“Cut!” He ended the recording. “Be more…flowery. More like, paranormal equivalent of  
technobabble. M’kay?”

Dennis nodded, thinking of what to say for a few seconds, before answering “Will do.”  
The camera rolled again.

“What we got ourselves here is a Class Five portal summoning ritual. Very, very powerful and very  
rarely attempted. Using this TV here, we are going to perform the ritual, which should cause the  
formation of a stable portal to another world.”

Camera turned back to Jake. “You heard it here, guys! Class Five! Let’s get to it!”

When the camera came back on again, the five teens were all kneeling in a circle round the  
television, Dennis in front of the screen.

He began to chant.

“Reality Flexible. Reality Malleable. Create a gateway to another world. A world distant. A world in  
chaos. Create a gateway to another world.”

He then repeated the sentence, over and over, swaying his head in a trance. Jake had a pleased grin  
throughout, feeling the footage was going to be gold. His and the group’s expression changed to  
concern, however, at what happened next.

Dennis’s voice began to deepen and distort, television static beginning to manifest in the abandoned  
building, regardless of poor lighting.

“Uh…Dennis?” Jake asked, the blonde youth paying him no mind and continuing the chant, even as  
he tried to shake him out of it.

The static began to overtake the room entirely, yet disappear from the television screen, starting to  
show a vista of red skies, skyscrapers with orange lighting in the distance, and rubble in the  
foreground.

“Th-this is impossible!” Jace spoke up, looking upon the surroundings with unnerved confusion.  
“This can’t be happening!”

“Seein’ the same thing you are, Jace.” Jake answered.

The two girls silently held each other.

“Reality Flexible. Reality Malleable. Reject and substitute this reality.” With this sentence, Dennis  
snapped out of his trance and the static dissipated into nothing, yet the world on the other end of the  
TV was still there. As he regained his bearings, his attention was drawn to the screen.

“H-holy fuck! It worked!” He proclaimed, the group huddling around him to see the end result.

“Woah…” Jake remarked.

“This…doesn’t make any scientific sense!” Jace added.

“But it’s there…regardless.” Dennis answered.

Before they could interact with the portal in any way, that shadow from before rushed out of the  
darkness, destroying both the TV and their cellphones in an instant, then telling them to "LEAVE!"  
in an extremely deep, guttural growl.

The kids fled out of the building within seconds, then tried to process what happened.

“No one at school’s gonna believe us!” The red-haired witch shouted.

“Who cares! I’m just glad were alive!” Sarah replied.

While Jace was lost in contemplation, Jake approached Dennis and inquired.

“Uh…this was uh…holy fuck.”

I know, right? Wanna hear what I saw during the trance?”

“You didn’t…black out or somethin’?

“Nope! I saw some shit. Was flyin’ through a static void with…screen’s showin’ what I can only  
guess was places that weren’t ours.”

“That’s…crazy.”

“I know what I saw.”

Jake rubbed his eyes for a moment before speaking to the group. “Aight, everyone go home. We had  
enough spooky shit for tonight.”

“Agreed.” Dennis answered, “Im gone. See ya tomorrow.”

The group took turns, answering with “Take Care.” and “See ya.” before parting ways to recover  
from their most unusual Halloween to date.

As he walked away, the realization set in for Dennis, that the newscaster was right. That this was to  
be his life now.

And that he should prepare.


	4. Family Reunion

Since the Halloween Incident, stuff's been quiet and mundane since, and Dennis felt like he'd not  
have it any other way. His sleep's gotten better and his marks in PE were back up to par. Maybe the  
creepy news lady forgot to tell him the paranormal shenanigans would only be temporary?

Anywho, it was the night before Christmas Eve, and he needed to get some rest. He was dressed in  
his freshly washed black designer PJ's, checking Youtube and then his social media before heading  
to sleep.

Then, he set it on his a night stand and proceeded to do so. He enjoyed being able to rest easy, and it  
seemed to be going this way, until near sleep, he heard what sounded like a loud burst of white  
noise, and his blood froze.

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to find himself floating on his bed in a static void, a pair of  
demonic, pupil-less eyes on a ghostly pale body gazing from upside  
upside down at him, apparently standing on a wall above the bed and hunching over to get a better  
look.

"Hello. Dearest of sons." The being spoke in a slavic accent, reaching into its baggy black coat and  
pulling out a hand mirror. "This is a special time, for a special growing boy." It then held it over  
Dennises' face, the boy's reflection becoming just as unearthly pale, only his pupils were relatively  
normal, he looked at his hands and they matched the reflection.

"This is truth. Of the humans, you are not."

"WHO ARE YOU!?" He screamed out, hiding partially beneath his sheets.

"I am mother dearest. Your mother dearest."

"My mom!? My actual fucking mom!?"

"Correct." She effortlessly summersaulted off the wall, doing physically impossible turns in the air  
until she landed in an uncomfortable position, right on top of the really-wanting-to-sleep boy,  
caressing his chalk white cheek with an eerie smile.

Dennis, needless to say, was really disturbed.

"My name is that of Jana Bogdanovich, Wanderer Of The Outer Planes, Arch Bureaucrat of the nine  
ethereal duchies and teleprog mother most caring."

"I-is that why you put me up for adoption?"

"Jana wished for a sane son, one who could wink, and nod, and hug with those who are short-lived  
without fearquake, unlike Jana the mother did."

He tried to process his alleged mother's eccentric babbling. If he was understanding this correctly,  
she wanted her son to grow up normal, to not be a freak like she apparently was.

"Mother dearest is so happy to have a reunion." And then, in a disturbing gesture, took her son's  
cheeks in her hands, and gave him a strong, forceful kiss on his lips.

Dennis let out muffled protests, trying to get the creatures' hands and lips off of him, his alleged  
parent noting this and pulling off with a look of confusion.

"Son does not like the kiss?"

"N-no. I-its just that humans don't kiss their kids on the lips, y'know. Its...creepy."

"Ohhhh. Understood."

She leant back into his face, as personal-space violatingly close as before, but without the kiss.

"Love the son. I truly do."

"Well, if you what you're sayin' is true, and you're my real mom. What the flying fuck are we?"

"We are Teleprog, those born from the static. Through our birthtalents, we influence the short-lived's  
entertainment programming."

"Anything else?"

"Our young lives become eternal lives. Twenty for the breasted, Eighteen for the penise'd."

"You...implyin' when I turn eighteen, I will become immortal?"

"Partially correct. Your age will cease, but your life is snuffable like a shortlive. Also, no sickness of  
flesh strikes you."

"I...did notice that. Looking back, I never got sick as a kid."

"Correct. All is well."

"So..."

"If you wish to summon mother dearest for future teachings, put this against the fore of one's head,  
focus on static and call the toll-free number fifty-eight, availible on any antiquated entertainment set  
without signal." She reached into her coat once more and placed a bulky TV remote on his chest, the  
company logo on it's bottom writing "Limited.Ltd" in scratched off white lettering and emitting the  
sound of white noise as he took it near his head to examine.

"Uh...will do."

She finally climbed off of him and stepped back, extending her arms forward and stating. "Reuniting  
with one's familly...is a FEELING. This concludes our broadcast day."

Her nightmarish eyes closed and in a flash, she and the void of static were gone, but not the remote,  
also of note was that his bedroom window was now open.

Dennis was confused and no longer in the mood for sleeping, eyeing the hissing device with  
curiosity, stashing it underneath his pillow, before walking out of his bedroom for a midnight snack,  
drink and some Adult Swim.

Was that...thing really his mother? Was he really not a human?

Those questions needed to wait, however, as getting frenched by one's own supposed birth parent  
made him really want something to wash out the taste...


	5. Comforts Revoked

As the Adult Swim sign off concluded, he shut the TV off, only to hear his foster parents, Eric and Martha, waking up. He had spent the entire night watching TV, too afraid to go to sleep for fear of seeing those wide, pupil-less eyes staring at him. It made him glad he did not have school any time soon.

His head turned to watch them descend, bags under his eyes, remote still in hand.

"Dennis?" His mother asked him. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep. You...wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You can tell us, Dennis." His father answered. "That is what we've always been here for."

"Well...this...lady broke into my room, and claimed she was my mom. And...she hopped onto my bed, explained some stuff and then kissed me on the lips. It was weird, and uncomfortable. "

Both were mortified by this.

"I'm calling the cops." Eric stated sternly.

"No!" Dennis shouted, shooting up from the couch, his foster mother moving closer to calm him.

"That sounds like a dangerous woman, son. We need to report this."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid." Martha said reassuringly. "She's probably just some crazy lady."

"No, it's not that. She...she's got like, weird powers. Made me float in some kinda void so we could talk alone."

"Are you okay, sweetie? You sound delirious."

"I...I know what I saw!"

His foster mom hugged him while his dad went to call the police.

The tan-skinned woman pulled away, looking him in the eyes while keeping hands on his shoulders. "Get some sleep, honey. You've been up all night, and I hate seeing you like this. Okay?" 

"O-okay, mom."

"Good boy."

"Can I sleep on the couch? Don't feel in the mood to walk upstairs."

"Sure thing, sweetie!"

She went upstairs to get him his blanket and pillow while he splayed himself out on the couch, ignoring his father's chatter."

After a night spent without sleep, it came to him almost instantly, the blonde-haired boy having faded into dream in what felt like less than five minutes.

His dream, much like his recent reality, was unusual, a scattered mishmash of non-sequitur, pop culture references from his memory along with visions of his supposed real mother.

When he awoke, he felt amazingly rested, not wanting to face the world as he curled up under his blanket and idly fondled himself as teenagers often did. But eventually, it was time to rise up and continue with life.

He slid off his blanket and stood up. "Mom, I'm up!"

Only deafening silence.

"Mom?" He looked around, pacing to the kitchen only to find nothing, except Eric's tablet simply laying on the table and the kitchen window wide open.

Needless to say, his blood ran cold. 

"Oh, fuck." He gasped out, rushing into the kitchen and grabbing the phone, frantically looking around himself in case the one who did this was still here.

An attempted unlock of the phone was met with a password screen that he could not answer, prompting the young man to cuss under his breath as he moved to pick up the knife and continued to keep an eye out, clutching the knife and phone tightly as he slowly explored the rest of his home, finding only vacant rooms and no other sign of conflict. Throughout this, his breathing was ragged and tears welled in his eyes. When he finished, he simply sat on the floor of the living room, dropped the knife and started to cry...


	6. Technical Difficulties

Groaning, he entered his home, returning from telling the police about what happened, along with avoiding the stuff leading up to the kidnapping because the last thing he needed right now was a padded cell.

He sat himself down on the couch, rubbing his soft face, wondering what on Earth he was going to do, tears beginning to well on his eyes as his mind flashed back to fond memories...

It had been, if he recalled correctly, two years since his adoption, the summer of 2013, when he had finally gotten used to and accepted his new home. His foster's were finally financially comfy enough to go on a vacation to Hawaii. As they were on the flight there, he could remember just how much they coddled him, telling him how awesome it will be to finally see a place that was not Beaver Dam.

It was at this point, that he remembered another thing that happened. How his then-frequent sleep paralysis struck as they were approaching Hawaii. After a nap, he awoke to find the usual shadowy figure looming over him, whispering something he could not remember. As usual he wanted to scream out or move but he could not. Though he mostly forgot it's appearence, the one thing he could remember were those creepy, contracted pupils

Contracted pupils...like that of his...actual mother...

Holy hell, if the idea he just had was correct, his true mother had been watching over and visiting him during his episodes, all this time.

In her own, unnerving way, she really did care for him.

Slipping his fingerless gloved hands away from his face, he could note how draped in tears they were, staring at them in further contemplation.

That device! She gave it to him in case he ever needed her help, and she sure as hell would be of more help now than the cops!

Wiping his tears on his sleeve, he got up out of the couch and rushed up to his bed room, looking underneath his bed and taking out the TV remote-shaped device! As he held it, he dismayed as he remembered another detail mentioned, he needed an old TV!

But...what if he did not? He was curious.

Racing back down to the living room, he switched on the TV and set himself down, tuning to the blue screen of nothing, a digital dead channel.

Continuing to remember the instructions, he pressed the device against his forehead and hit the button for the next channel.

To his own surprise, the blue started to have interference and quickly turned to static, static turning into a rather odd "Technical Difficulties" image of a chalk white, bald figure's gaze poking out from underneath the dark grey text, amidst a black void, it's eyes completely blank.

To his shock, the gazing head moved and spoke, in a monotone voice, almost text-to-speech sounding. "Hello. The Intrastatic communication device you have used is incompatible with your current focus, please perform an adapter ritual if you wish to continue."

"A-adapter ritual!? How do I do that!?"

"To perform an adapter ritual, please place any artificial source of white noise on the roof of the focus."

Okay, white noise, white noise. Where was he gonna get white noise? Then he remembered Youtube. Quickly, he took his phone of out of his pocket and looked for "White Noise 10 hours", picking the one that showed the most static in the thumbnail and letting it play, then quickly standing up and placing it sideways on top of the flat screen, it somehow magnetizing and maintaining perfect balance on it's far thinner roof.

As he stepped away, the head's blank eyes turned to static, and it answered, "Thank You" before switching to an image of a very sparse, concrete bedroom, wherein a familiar woman in a black coat stood in the middle. In a flash, she zipped up to the camera and he came face to face with those eyes once more.

"Son dearest! Assistance is needed?"

"Yeah. My foster parent's have been kidnapped, and I don't think whoever took 'em was a normal person."

"Yay! Teach son dearest!"

"Teach?"

"Parent residue less than a week?"

"Huh?"

"Residue less than week, can witness past."

"Uh...yeah!"

"Good! Switch next channel. Close in, focus. Like camera."

Obeying, he pressed "Next channel", which turned the screen back to static, loud static.

Nervously, the boy moved his way to in front of the set and knelt down, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, thinking back to his kitchen, and his parents' abduction.

Minutes passed with nothing to show, until suddenly, he could hear a familiar, heartwarming chuckle. He opened his eyes to find bird's eye footage of his mother and father at the kitchen table, apparently watching a cartoon on a tablet.

"Mom!" He cried out, grabbing at the screen to no avail, before composing himself and pulling away.

The footage proceeded, nothing out of the ordinary until the tablet's screen started glitching, his parent's looking on in confusion.

"Ah, fuckin..." His dad could be heard, stopping to turn the screen on and off, annoyed. When it came back on, it had frozen on an image of a cartoon cat, it's visage starting to glitch and distort. And then, a static-covered hand emerged from the tablet screen, dad jumping out of his seat while mom back away in terror as some sort of mechanical skeleton wearing the statified image of the feline as some form of bizarre, translucent overlay. It leapt off the table and grabbed his father.

"GO! GET DENNIS" He could hear him shout as the entity dragged him into the now-static showing tablet and somehow jammed his head into the screen, the older man struggling and thrashing as more of his body was lowered into the abyss of white noise before being completely "Swallowed" by the tablet.

His mother screamed "NOOOOOO!" in horror as she could only stand there, paralyzed by the situation.

She tried to turn around, to wake him up, running offscreen to the living room to presumably try and shake Dennis awake. The metallic creature rushed after her with greater speed, dragging her back to the tablet kicking and screaming like the father, cramming her into the device until she too dissapeared.

Then, in a bizarre move, it walked over to the kitchen window and opened it, proceeding to simply...take several deep inhales of fresh air before forcefully diving back in, after which the tablet shut itself off, and the TV turned back to static.

Dennis stared, wide eyed and slack jawed, trying to process what the flying fuck he just witnessed...


End file.
